


show me where it hurts (and i will make it worse)

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Branding, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Master/Pet, Obsessive Behavior, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU. “So I propose to you the choice--submit to me willingly, or Itakeyou for my own.”





	show me where it hurts (and i will make it worse)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoemIsDead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemIsDead/gifts).



> Gift work for my new friend Ryo (and the rest of the server that's been cheering me on!) I recently joined her server and we had a shared love of dark/jack and branding kink, so I decided to write this up for her. It was a lot of fun to write, and it gave me some good practice! I'm also pleased that it got me out of my writing slump lmao.
> 
> It's hella dark but it's loosely inspired by her fic [say my name](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13188006/chapters/30166284). That being said--big warning!!! **This is a LOT of dub-con and a bit of torture, so be mindful in reading it!**
> 
> All that aside, please enjoy! I know I did :) 
> 
> Title and lyrics from "Crawl" by Breaking Benjamin.

_ | " **Show me where it hurts, and I will make it worse**. Are you holding on? Keep holding on..."| _

~~

Perhaps it’s been a day, or six, or seventeen. Down here, nothing really follows a proper span of time. Weeks will blur into months, hours blend into minutes--an amalgam of formulas that aren’t meant to makes sense. Jack has grown to take comfort in this lack of understanding. 

There’s a vague warmth in his chest, the reminder of a still beating heart, fragile and slow. It’s the reminder that he is still unequivocally human, despite any changes that anything--human or beast--deem to make on him. He’s still got red blood flowing through his weakened veins, still has the breakable, brittle bones in his fingers, his legs, his chest. He still has eyes that need to blink, still has a mess of moppy hair that needs to be cut, and should he ever survive this, he thinks he might dye it green. 

He runs his tongue over his split and bloodied lips, chewing on the ripped skin, and his stomach growls with a phantom hunger. He’s not really hungry--hunger doesn’t exist in his own special slice of hell, not in this realm of being, but it’s there to serve as a punishment for him, an unending ache for a food he cannot have, can’t have until he bends to the will of someone far above him in power. 

The devil, Jack thinks. Jack is sure Dark is the devil. The most beautiful of angels, fallen from grace, twisted into something vile, nasty, and evil. 

“You’re thinking again, pet,” and there his voice is again, warm and inviting, like a numbing agent. It makes every bit of pain go away, but only for a moment, only for a fleeting moment. A gift. Gone so soon. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Dark’s strong hands comb through his hair, and when had he gotten here, physically? He’s not entirely sure. Perhaps he’s always been here, always watching, it’s hard to say. Jack shifts in his chair, bound there by harsh incantations, magic not of this world. No ropes, no chains. Just something otherworldly that Jack cannot outrun, cannot overpower. He doesn’t shy away from Dark’s touch, because the last time he’d done so had resulted in him spitting blood for the next hour. 

“I’m thinking of you,” Jack says, because it’s mostly true, and it’s the answer that Dark likes to hear. “That’s all.” 

Dark lets out a nonsensical hum, roaming his fingers over the curvature of his cheeks, as though familiarizing his features for some wicked use. Perhaps he intends to steal Jack’s form and make him something else. It would be fitting, to make him a puppet. A doll of his former self. Dark seems the sort. 

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” Dark muses, tracing a finger just below, and some sort of fear strikes him, then. Dark’s fingers are so close, so sharp and cruel, and it would take nothing for an eye to be lost. A phantom sting already settles in, and Jack knows it to be one of Dark’s manipulation techniques, to frighten him. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I’ve always been told my eyes are my best feature,” Jack breathes out slowly, forcing his brain into submission. _It’s not real. It’s not real. The pain isn’t real._

“They’re right,” Dark says, like the answer isn’t quite directed at him. “How are you feeling?” 

Like the snap of a finger, the pain in his eye vanishes, filled with a lukewarm glow, wrapping him in a cocoon. It feels like home, like he’s bundled up in fresh blankets from the laundry, surrounded by the dull static of crap television that always makes him laugh. It’s good. It’s great. It’s peaceful. As much as he hates it, his mouth twists into the faintest of smiles, almost against his will, like something tugs at the corners of his lips. Like his mouth doesn’t belong to him, anymore. 

“There it is,” Dark kneels down in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “There’s that darling smile. You look beautiful when you’re happy, Sean. A work of art.” 

He reaches up, his fingers cupping Jack’s chin, his grip gentle at first, tilting up his downcast eyes. “I love making you feel like that. I love watching your eyes light up when you feel pleasure. It’s entrancing.” 

And then, then--his grip tightens, nails digging in, and something cold seizes him from the inside out. Like a glass grenade exploding in his chest, bleeding each part of him. Jack gasps, jerking forward, still unable to pry himself away from Dark’s grip. 

“You also look stunning in pain,” Dark hums, like it took no effort to flip that switch. The powers Dark has in this realm--any any realm--go far beyond what any normal person can comprehend. “I don’t like to hurt you, though. Creatures such as you shouldn’t be put through torment, agony. Suffering. It’s not fair, is it? That you have to hurt?” 

The pain recedes, and Jack coughs as Dark pulls his hand away, rising to his feet again. He walks behind his chair, setting his hands on his shoulders, firm but not dangerous, yet. He smoothes his ashen fingers along the curves of his bones. Without much warning, Jack feels a lump clog his throat, and the tears begin to well, dribbling out of the corners of his eyes. 

“Please,” he whispers, trying not to shake. It’s no use. “Please, Dark. Please let me go. I’ll be yours. Just--not like this. We don’t have to do this.” 

There’s a brief pause. Dark’s hands stall for a moment. 

“I don’t have to do this,” Dark breathes in his ear, a threat, almost. “But _you_ do. You see, Sean, everything in this realm is _mine_. It exists to serve _me_ , to bend to _my_ will. I will accept nothing less than complete obedience from what I own. And you?”

His hands wrap around his throat, pressing indentations into the skin. Jack chokes, the air rushing from his lungs. “I want you. The most beautiful human I’ve ever seen. But this shell you possess, this fragility--it won’t do. I can’t accept you this way. Do you understand?”

Jack stays quiet. When he’d first met Dark, it had been in a dream--a beautiful man in a fine suit, whispering sweetness to him. It had been all innocent, fun. Just a dream. Jack had enjoyed dancing, flirting with the charming figure who seemed to hold the world in the palm of his hand. Jack was sure he’d made him up. Night after night, the man would appear, whisking him away for what felt like eternity, but only lasted mere hours. Until one day the dreams stopped, and now he’s here.

“For you to become mine,” Dark loosens his hold, and he gulps down the air quick as he can. “Which is what you want, you must give yourself to me. But this petty, insignificant human pride keeps you from achieving your true potential. From being my beautiful, obedient pet. I’ll give you so much, Sean. More than you can imagine. Leagues of finery, fields of gold, gems--everything befitting of your grace. Feelings unparalleled in your mortal world, a taste of something few have ever experienced. And all you have to do is let go of this affliction, this smear on your beautiful, perfect slate. Let go of this frivolous humanity.” 

It would be so easy, Jack thinks. It would be easy to let go of being human. He knows this. Being human is so tiring, exhausting. Finite. But an eternity with Dark sounds more frightening than death, than the suffering. 

“Please,” he begs, voice dry. “Please, Dark. Just stop it. You really don’t have to do this. You can just let me go. You can have someone else--someone who wants--who wants to be owned. Someone like me.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dark’s voice drifts into one ear, out the other, hovering over him like a guillotine. “There is no one like you. There is no human in all of time, all of existence, that has ever come _close_ to you. And I will _not_ let you slip through my fingers. So I propose to you the choice--submit to me willingly, or I _take_ you for my own.”

Jack trembles with the weight of the words, feeling them bear down upon him. He aches from the pressure of it, and he knows there’s no good way out of this. But he can’t give up. Not like this. Not without anything. 

Then suddenly, he feels freed. Whatever had bound him to the chair releases its icy hold on him. Jack almost falls forward from the sudden release, clutching a hand over his chest, as though to keep himself steady. 

“Stand up for me, darling,” Dark murmurs. A hand appears from the corner of his eye, delicate, and Jack can’t help but oblige. He puts his hand in Dark’s much too cold hand, using his wobbly legs to rise from his confinement, finding that he has no stability. 

His legs collapse beneath him, bucking under his weight, but it’s not the ground that he hits. Dark catches him with strong hold, still holding onto one of his hands, wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him flush against his chest. Jack presses his face into his shoulder, and without thinking he breathes in.

God. Dark smells of smoke and nicotine, of expensive liquor and cologne--of finely tailored suits and pressed linen. It feels so real, so amazing in comparison to the dullness that he’s experienced lately, and he wants to hold onto it. He digs his fingers into the front of Dark’s shirt, grounding himself, using this to his temporary advantage. This feeling is human, and he’ll hold it.

Briefly, Dark pulls away from him, and Jack looks up to meet his eyes. The bright, piercing red gleams back at him, and he can’t look away, can’t stop Dark from smoothing a hand over his cheek, brushing the dirty strands of hair away from his eyes. It’s so soft, so tender, so unlike him, and he thinks that’s why he doesn’t say a damn thing as Dark tilts his head up and kisses him. 

This isn’t the first time Dark’s kissed him, but this is the first kiss like this. Where Jack feels every ounce of love, some sense of adoration, obsession, even. He feels drowned in it all, an influx of emotions that aren’t his, and perhaps Dark’s thralling him, but there’s something in his chest that feels uniquely like himself. That Dark couldn’t fabricate inside him if he tried. 

“Dark--” he breaks the kiss to interrupt, wrenching his face away, but this serves no good. The room shifts around him, gone is the darkness, the small, square room that has been his prison. In comes something brighter, and without getting a good look, Dark presses him against the wall. “Please--”

“Shh,” Dark nearly hisses, perhaps as a command, or perhaps a request. Jack’s fingers grip him harder, bunching his shirt between his knuckles. “Why can’t you see how much I care about you? Look at you.” 

He grabs his wrists, pinning them to the wall aside his head. Dark jams his knee between his legs, forcing them apart, and boxing him against the cool stone. Their lips reconnect, a harsh clacking of teeth, saliva. Jack tastes blood on his tongue as Dark invades his mouth, and he tries--he tries _so_ hard not to moan, tries so hard to push against the pressure on his wrists, but his body betrays him.

“I can make you feel so good,” Dark breathes in his ear, like another thinly veiled threat. Somehow, it’s enticing. “Think of it, Jack. Pleasure beyond what your human mind can comprehend.” 

He grapples both of Jack’s hands above his head, and he swears that Dark’s nails grow sharper as he pins him there with one hand. The pain almost feels good, twisting just right, and Jack’s mouth falls open as Dark’s fingers trail downward, pushing up the material of his t-shirt. His fingers ghost his lower stomach, leaving light scratches in his wake, and Jack tries to squirm away, embarrassed by how reactive he’s being. His captor undoes the button on his dirty jeans, pushing them down and exposing his boxers. 

“Shh,” Dark murmurs again, and his cold hands dip just below the waistline, giving the base of his cock a gentle squeeze. “See? It feels good, doesn’t it?”

As if to accentuate his point, he gives his already forming erection a slow, soft tug, repeating the motion a couple of times. Jack trembles, averting his eyes, tucking his head into his arm. He tries to block out the sensation, biting his tongue, but Dark only uses this to his advantage. He leans forward, pressing hot, heavy kisses to his neck in tandem with his strokes, and there’s no direction Jack can go to avoid it. 

It feels _good_ , and Jack hates it so much. Dark kisses with so much finesse, letting his lips linger on his skin, shivers winding so far down that he curls his toes in his sneakers. Eventually, Dark grows bored of the little noises that he elicits from the ministrations on his neck, moving to kiss him again. He pushes his tongue in, another wet, lewd makeout session following. He swallows every goddamn moan, every whine that escapes him, drinking it in, the sway of his hands getting faster, rougher, and amazing. 

Dark’s driving him mad, twisting his wrist in just the right ways, and before long Jack’s hips are moving without his permission, pressing into his hand, practically fucking himself into his captor’s fist. He’s leaking like crazy, Dark spreading the precome along his shaft with a swipe of his thumb across the head, and he jumps, his voice devolving into a steady stream of whines and groans that sound distant, far away. The familiar knot in his stomach begins to tighten, and he can’t tell if Dark’s done something to him--made him hypersensitive to his advances or if Jack just _really_ wants this, but he knows he’s not far off. His hips begin to stutter, Dark bites into his lower lip, as Jack mumbles against his lips, “Dark--”

He’s not sure what he’s asking for. He wants to come, but he wants Dark to stop, doesn’t want to release like this. It feels dirty, somehow, like a one-night stand at a club with a guy he doesn’t remember the name of, except he knows this is Dark and this won’t be a one night event if he lets this happen.

Right on the cusp of his orgasm, Jack wrenches his eyes shut, his body trembling in a mixture of pleasure and guilt. But the familiar punch never comes, and neither does he. 

With no warning, Dark withdraws his hand, and Jack actually sobs, ashamed that the cry even leaves his lips. He’s so hard that it _hurts_ , and it seems the only words that are coherent enough to escape his mouth are, “Please, please, please--” 

Dark keeps him against the wall with a strong grip, and when Jack meets his eyes, they’re hooded, clouded by something otherworldly, mischievous and lustful. He’s got a lazy smile on his lips, presumably amused by how riled up he’d gotten him, only to rip it away from him. 

“Please what?” he says it slow, relaxed, like he’s got all the time in the world, like Jack’s not looking _or_ feeling like a desperate whore, thirsty to get off like he hasn’t in years.

He sucks in a sobering breath, shaking his head. He can get through this, he knows he can. 

Without taking his eyes off him, Dark slips his hand back, resuming his ministrations. He jerks him without hurry, and instead of kissing him this round, leans in, his breath hot over the shell of his ear. 

“Beautiful,” he praises, and he sounds like he means it. “You’re so beautiful. The way you gasp, the way you whine. It’s all so perfect, so perfect for me. You’re desperate, aren’t you? Do you want to come?” 

Jack feels like he’s being gutted when Dark gives his cock a sudden, rough jerk, and it feels so fucking phenomenal that the words fall out before he can catch them, “Yes, yes, please--please, Dark--” 

“My beautiful boy wants to come,” Dark repeats, brushing a gentle kiss over his ear. “He’ll have to earn it, then.” 

That same, strange magic tugs at his wrists, and Dark pulls his hand away. His hands are immobile again, held there by a force unseen, and the devil steps back, admiring his handiwork. He takes in Jack’s flushed face and trembling legs, kiss-swollen lips, hickey-covered neck, his cock, eager in his pants. 

For the first time since the room changed, Jack gets a good chance to investigate it. His eyes skirt around, finding a small bed tucked into the corner, a fireplace on the wall adjacent. Dark turns to walk towards it, kneeling down in front of it, his grayish skin cast in a warm, orange glow. 

Dark turns back to him moments later, a long thin brand in his hands, an intricate sigil at the end. 

His heart sinks in his chest as he realizes what that’s for. 

_I will take you for my own._

“Dark,” Jack whispers, and he begins struggling with the magic binding his wrists. “I--I don’t--”

“It’ll only hurt for a moment, pet,” Dark soothes, like that’s any consolation. The weight of his steps as he walks back to him feels heavier, more impending. He swears he feels the heat before it’s even close to his skin. “Sometimes, in order to get what we want, we have to work for it.”

He stops just in front of him, reaching out to raise his shirt, just above his waistline. Jack pulls away as much as he can, mashing himself against the wall, but it gives him no more room than he originally had. “Dark, Dark, I don’t--I don’t want--please don’t--I’ll--”

Dark offers him another clouded smile, and eyes flickering for a moment before he brings down the hot brand to his skin, in the spot just above his hip. 

Jack _screams_ , trying to twist away, but Dark’s magic keeps him rooted in his spot, Dark’s hand coming to stabilize his hips, searing the sigil into his skin. He’s never had anything hurt like this, no broken bones or sliced fingers or burns of any kind that have felt like this. It’s almost cold it hurts so bad, and tears prick at his eyes as he sobs. He’s so loud that he can’t imagine how he isn’t toppling this room with his volume.

“That’s it,” Dark’s voice is soft, saccharine, and it’s comforting, almost. Jack finds that in the midst of this horrid sensation, he likes it, even though he shouldn’t. All this sweetness has ever led to him being hurt, and he realizes now that most of the bad things in his recent life can be traced back to him. “Just give in, baby boy. You want to be mine, don’t you?”

He pulls the hot iron away, tossing it with a careless hand. Jack dares to glance down at his new mark, looking at the angry, blistering skin. Dark traces the outline of it with his finger, seemingly pleased with his handiwork and Jack vainly tries to twist away from his touch again, the brand throbbing with agony. 

“Perfect,” Dark sings, using his other hand to cup his cheek. He brushes his thumb along his cheekbone. “You’re so perfect, Sean. Mine. All mine. You did so well. I think you deserve a reward.”

Jack’s still crying, shaking his head with _no no no_ on his lips. Dark kisses the corners of his eyes. Smoothing back his hair, he lets him breathe through the blinding agony until it calms into a blistering sting, still painful.

He connects their lips again, languid and slow, more contact than kissing. Jack’s head drifts upward to deepen it, wanting some sort of comfort for this, even if Dark’s the one that caused it. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when Dark slips his hand back between the waistband of his boxers, palming his ashamedly still hard erection.

Tugging at the illusionary binds on his wrists, there’s a wordless request that seems to be heard. Jack feels the pressure taken off his wrists, and he presses on Dark’s shoulders to push him away, but his arms won’t move, and it’s due to no magic, no demonic energy. It’s his own blood, his own twisted perception, and every bit of it feels like hell and heaven wrapped in one. 

With no warning, Dark gives his cock one long, last stroke, pressing his thumb to the slit as he brings his other hand down to dig his finger into his brand. He swallows the howl that Jack emits, growling against his lips, _“Come for your master.”_

And he’s gone, spilling into his pants, all over Dark’s hand. His orgasm hits him like a train, knocking the wind out of him, the mixture of pain and pleasure washing over him, slamming into him in waves. They go in tandem with one another, and he shakes with the intensity of it. Jack’s sure he would have collapsed, if not for the wall behind him. 

A few moments pass, the air coming back to him, and Dark withdraws his hand from his pants. His red eyes gleam, a satisfied, insatiable smile on his lips as he brings his soiled hand to Jack’s mouth. 

“You sound so pretty, Sean,” he murmurs, a lilt of praise in his tone. “Now, why don’t you be a good boy and clean up the mess you made?” 

Realization dawns on him, and as Dark pushes two of his fingers into Jack’s mouth, a coldness sets in. 

Tonight’s only just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thank you so so much for all your support! Please feel free to chat with me over at voidskelly.tumblr.com :)


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